CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nightbeat sat for a while, thinking. Cat had mentioned that he knew who had tried to kill him by pushing him down the very stairs Joey had died on. He knew that this person had to be the same one who killed Joey. How the hell did Cat know what Nightbeat didn’t? Cat had to have seen it.
And done nothing to prevent it, of course. Nightbeat would have to put that idea on hold.
He needed to know what Cat knew, but he couldn’t just outright ask him. If Cat felt whimsical, he might actually tell him the truth, but that was a big if. He couldn’t trust a word out of Cat’s mouth. He would have to do his own investigating.
And that meant the Catacombs.
The Catacombs were under Joey’s bed, but they were only accessible by Cat. No one else had ever been down there, but whenever Cat went, they could usually catch a glimpse of that world. Nightbeat wondered if he could sneak in when Cat was either coming or going. He thought it was worth a try.
After a cursory search, Nightbeat saw that Cat wasn’t around, which highly suggested that he was in the Catacombs. All he had to do was wait until the beast came back. He went under the bed and sat propped up against one of the legs—so it looked like he blended in instead of sticking out—and he waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Finally, it happened. A dot of light appeared and then expanded into a line. Cat leaped out and walked away, and the glowing line remained. Nightbeat hurled himself at it and slipped through just before it winked out of existence. He stumbled and rolled until he came to a stop.
He looked around and saw that he was in a dingy, poorly-lit dungeon. Torches flickered at solid concrete walls. He could see no one else around. Only then did he wonder how the hell he was going to get back to Joey’s bedroom. He cursed, realizing that he would need Cat’s help with that.
First things first: he stepped forward, hoping he was headed in the right direction. He saw there were prison cells down here, and he thought about the dream he’d had when he was dead. No one was in them, though. No one was in the torture devices, either. Was this the kind of place Cat liked to hang out? Nightbeat shuddered.
He heard something. The noise was too distant, so he couldn’t tell what it was, but there was someone deeper in the dungeon. He wandered further and found stairs that led down. The sound became louder, and he realized that it was a cacophony of tortured souls screaming.
Nightbeat seriously considered unstuffing Cat on principle.
He continued on to the lowest level, and here he couldn’t help but gasp. The entire corridor was filled with dead toys. Maybe they were Wally’s, or maybe they were everyone’s. He saw fellow Transformers down here, all lifeless. Bumblebee was missing his head. Trailblazer was cracked in half. There were other toys down here, too. The Real Ghostbusters, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, GI Joes, Sectaurs, Centurions, COPS, He-Man. You name the ‘Eighties toy, and it was here, dead.
“Don’t mind them,” a voice next to him said. “I don’t.”
Nightbeat jumped, whirling on whoever had just talked to him. It was a He-Man character by the name of Man-E-Faces. He was muscle-bound and had a container over his head, where he had three faces you could change by moving a knob at the top. The faces constantly spun around, and Nightbeat knew right away that something was not right with this guy.
“What is this place?” Nightbeat asked.
“Welcome to
“What about you?” Nightbeat asked. “Are you broken?”
“Yes. But I can’t stop living, no matter how hard I try. Cat keeps me alive.”
“For what purpose?”
The faces stopped spinning. Man-E-Faces grinned. “I’m the grim reaper, friend. Welcome to Hell.” He reached out to grab Nightbeat, who flipped and transformed in one fluid motion. There wasn’t a lot of space to move around, but he launched himself into the gathering of dead toys.
“You think you can hide from me?” Man-E-Faces asked. “This is my home. I know it backwards and sideways. I can sense your lifeforce like it was heat in infrared. There is no escape.”
Nightbeat glanced up, and sure enough, Man-E-Faces was looking directly at him. There really was no hiding. There were a couple of doors at the end of the hallway. If he could only get there . . .
He tripped and fell on Optimus Prime’s corpse. Aghast, he tried to prioritize. Thinking about his dead friend would do no good now. He had to get to those doors. Pushing grief away, he stumbled through the toy graveyard, hearing Man-E-Faces get closer. Closer.
“I wouldn’t go through that door, if I were you.”
Fuck you, Nightbeat thought. He transformed and reached for the doorknob and flung the door wide open. He paused, looking down into the abyss beyond. The screams were coming from here, and all he could see was fire for miles and miles. He closed the door and hoped the other would be better.
Man-E-Faces clamped his hand down on Nightbeat’s shoulder, twisting him around. “Don’t even think it, friend. Just let me kill you. It’ll be for the best. You don’t want to linger in this place. I can make it quick, if you want.”
Nightbeat tried to wrench himself out of Man-E-Faces’s grip, but the He-Man figure was too strong. He tried to transform again, but Man-E-Faces grabbed him around the waist, making it impossible.
“Calm down,” Man-E-Faces said. “You’re only making it worse.”
Nightbeat forced himself to relax, hoping that his dead weight would fall through Man-E-Faces’s arms, thus freeing him. It didn’t work. Man-E-Faces only held him harder. His faces whirled faster than ever, and Nightbeat felt his spark dimming. His resistance weakened. He had a sinking sensation like when you’re running in place in a dream. He tried to beg Man-E-Faces to stop, but he couldn’t make a sound.
“Oh hello!” a cheerful voice called from up the stairs. Nightbeat’s vision was graying, and he couldn’t see who it was, but whoever it was bounded down to them in record time. “You can let him go, Man-E-Faces. He’s not supposed to be here.”
“But he’s almost dead,” Man-E-Faces said.
“No, he needs to live. Release him at once.”
Man-E-Faces’s faces slowed their whirl, but they didn’t fully stop. He let Nightbeat go. He collapsed into the pile of dead toys, gasping. It took him a moment to recuperate, but when he finally felt like himself again, he stood, surprised to see Cat standing before him. Except it wasn’t Cat. This was a black feline, flesh and fur, with devil’s horns instead of ears. A ridiculously giant red-and-white hat perched on his head. His eyes glowed yellow.
“Cat?” Nightbeat asked.
“In the flesh,” Cat said. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, what the devil are you doing down here? And how did you get here?”
“I thought you were the know-it-all,” Nightbeat said. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“I suppose you got in when last I left. I suspect you’re investigating me in regards to our dearly departed boy.”
“Right on both counts. Now it’s time for my questions. What the fuck is this place?”
“This is my home,” Cat said. “My real home. But to tell you any more would be too much for you to know. I’m sure Man-E-Faces said enough.”
Man-E-Faces kept whirling, except now he turned his body to catch up to his faces.
“Who tried to kill me?” Nightbeat asked.
“The same person who killed Joey,” Cat said.
“If you knew who killed Joey, why didn’t you do anything about it?”
“Not my job. Besides, I understand why the killer did it. You would, too, if you weren’t so blind and your memory so short.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you remember the last time one of us died?” Cat asked.
Nightbeat blinked. “What? No, enough games. Tell me.”
“Have you forgotten about Bueno Excellente?”
STOP!
Addendum to the CAST OF CHARACTERS:
Bueno Excellente: a giant stuffed Mr. Potatohead who thinks he is Bueno Excellente from the DC comic book, HITMAN, fights crime with the power of perversion.
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